


A Selfie For Your Thoughts

by oisugasuga



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Best Friends, College, Confessions, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Mutual Pining, Selfies, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 00:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17735189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisugasuga/pseuds/oisugasuga
Summary: Surely, surely, Oikawa is joking.Iwaizumi takes a deep breath through his nose, holds it. He looks up at his ceiling. Looks back down.He definitely sent this by mistake. Jesus.There is a lot of skin showing. A lot. Iwaizumi doesn’t know why he’s still looking either but it’s like the little, pixelated image glaring up at him from his phone is hypnotizing him.





	A Selfie For Your Thoughts

Surely, _surely_ , Oikawa is joking.

 

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath through his nose, holds it. He looks up at his ceiling. Looks back down.

 

_He definitely sent this by mistake. Jesus._

 

There is a lot of skin showing. A _lot_. Iwaizumi doesn’t know why he’s still looking either but it’s like the little, pixelated image glaring up at him from his phone is hypnotizing him.

 

Oikawa isn’t _hypnotizing_. 

 

Or, at least, he isn’t when he has his shirt on. And right now, grinning up at Iwaizumi from the glass surface of his phone, he doesn’t. Have a shirt on.

 

Oikawa doesn’t have a shirt on and Iwaizumi is _blushing_.

 

That realization shakes Iwaizumi from his open-mouthed daze and he hits the power button and throws his phone facedown onto his bed. His tongue feels like cotton in his mouth. His pulse is racing unnaturally fast at his wrists.

 

_What the hell? Get a grip. You’ve seen Tooru shirtless before._

 

_Yeah, but not like_ that, another voice in Iwaizumi’s head supplies unhelpfully. _Not when he looks like that._

 

Unbidden, a ghost of the selfie springs back into Iwaizumi’s head, rising up from his dark phone — of Oikawa’s dark eyes, his mussed hair, the peace sign held up near his face and the little smirk on his mouth… the long expanse of tanned, toned skin and abs and a beauty mark Iwaizumi’s somehow never noticed before, right under Oikawa’s right clavicle.

 

Iwaizumi realizes he’s biting his lower lip and _flushing_ again before he growls in frustration and shakes his head.

 

_Stupid. Why the hell did the idiot send me that? And what the hell is wrong with me?_

 

Maybe it’s been the last long week of finals. Maybe that’s why Iwaizumi feels feverish all of the sudden. He’s just tired, that’s all. Yeah, that’s it.

 

And that picture had been a mistake. It’s past two in the morning. Oikawa is probably up, yeah, but that picture had been meant for someone else.

 

That thought gives Iwaizumi another weird feeling — like a stone thrown deep down into his stomach.

 

But he shakes it off. It’s late. He really needs some sleep and the only reason he’s still up is because he’d been last-minute packing for the holidays. 

 

His train is at noon tomorrow — today — to go back home from uni. Which will be a much-needed break after this past hell-week of exams and papers. He’s looking forward to sleeping in his own bed and eating home-cooked food.

 

_Tooru’s getting some action before break then, huh?_ his sluggish brain throws at him, but Iwaizumi only rolls his eyes and then flops backwards onto his bed, letting the mattress soak up his heavy limbs. He closes his eyes. 

 

His phone dings. 

 

"Fuck," Iwaizumi hisses out loud. His heart has skipped a beat and it’s an unpleasant feeling. Like having ice water thrown over his head.

 

He sits up, grabs the offending device, and peeks cautiously at the screen. If Tooru is still sending him pics he’s going to kick his -

 

Dumbass  
  
Didn’t you like the picture, Iwa-chan?

Iwaizumi’s jaw drops. He’d thought that only happened in movies, but nope, no, he can feel his mouth actually fall open. 

 

It’s accompanied by an odd buzzing in his ears. 

 

And an odd feeling in his chest, like he’s being strangled.

 

He unlocks his phone with numb fingers and then they hover over the keys, stilling as his tired brain whirls to catch up.

 

It hadn’t been a mistake. 

 

What. The. Fuck.

 

Finally, finally, Iwaizumi’s fingers move. 

 

Dumbass  
  
Didn’t you like the picture, Iwa-chan?  
  
Go the fuck to bed. What’re you doing?? I need to sleep.

He hits send viciously. 

 

He’s actually pretty proud of himself for forming the three coherent sentences because the rest of him is still spinning. Oikawa’s played pranks before but this… this is crossing a line.

 

A line Iwaizumi really can’t deal with right now. 

 

He rubs a hand over his face. Stares at the dark wall opposite his bed and then over at the empty space his roommate had left behind yesterday after heading home. 

 

He wills his brain as blank as the empty twin-bed… but Oikawa’s messages have sent a buzz of energy over his skin and his thoughts can’t help but wander.

 

There has been a line recently. One made of his own doing. He can’t deny it. 

 

A line Iwaizumi has been trying desperately _not_ to think about.

 

Oikawa hasn’t been making it easy for him. That’s for sure. Being more clingy than usual — which was saying something. Spending all of his spare time lounging in Iwaizumi’s dorm room and using his shower. Constantly _touching_ him — a hand on Iwaizumi’s neck, an arm around his shoulders, a leg thrown over his waist during a movie night.

 

"God," Iwaizumi murmurs out loud. He runs his hand through his hair this time.

 

And now this? A selfie that looks like it should’ve been sent in response to a late-night sext from a fuck buddy?

 

Okay. Maybe that’s going a little too far. Oikawa had sweatpants on in the photo, so he was half-dressed. But still.

 

Iwaizumi risks glancing down at his phone quickly, scrolling up just the barest bit with his thumb until he can see that damned beauty mark again. He swallows hard.

 

And as if Oikawa had known, a third message slides into their chat. Iwaizumi’s stomach dips.

 

Dumbass  
  
Didn’t you like the picture, Iwa-chan?  
  
Go the fuck to bed. What’re you doing?? I need to sleep.  
  
can I come over?

"Oh no, no no no no, I don’t think so," Iwaizumi mutters to himself, brow furrowing. What the hell is Tooru getting at?

 

He swings his legs out of bed and stalks the little space it takes to flip his desk lamp on, throwing the room into a yellowish haze. The clock beside it reads 2:45 AM in neat, glowing red numbers. Sleep is suddenly the last thing on his mind.

 

The line in Iwaizumi’s head — the one he’s been avoiding crossing for the past three months — suddenly feels very, very close.

 

And all at the idea of Oikawa showing up at his door right now.

 

"Shit." Iwaizumi sinks back down onto the edge of his bed and pinches the bridge of his nose. What should he say?

 

Unbidden, Makki’s voice floats back into Iwaizumi’s conscious from their last phone call weeks ago.

 

_You should tell him._

 

Iwaizumi pushes it away and scowls to himself, gripping his phone a little too tightly.

 

He remembers that night — the night he had called Makki. 

 

Before that, before the phone call, Oikawa had dragged him out to a bar. 

 

And that had kind of — okay, majorly — been the reason for Iwaizumi’s three a.m. call to Makki, who went to uni a few cities over.

 

Because Oikawa had insisted on going despite Iwaizumi’s protests that finals were creeping up on them. Because they had gotten drunk. Because Oikawa had pulled him onto the dance floor, oddly serious and looking at him with those big, dark eyes.

 

Tooru. The boy Iwaizumi’s been with since they were both in diapers. The one he’s seen cry while watching _The Titanic_. The one he sometimes feels like he knows better than himself. His best friend.

 

And in that moment — with Tooru’s breath hot and sweet on his cheek, with his body pressed up against Iwaizumi’s chest and stomach and legs while they danced a little too close, with those dark eyes oddly intent on his face — Iwaizumi had crossed the line.

 

He had kissed him. He had kissed his best friend.

 

And the worst part had been that he had _liked_ it. 

 

Not worst because Iwaizumi isn’t aware of his sexuality and he’d had some sudden, groundbreaking epiphany. No, nothing like that.

 

But because Tooru is his _best friend_. More specifically, his best friend who has never shown anything other than platonic love towards him. It’s a dead end.

 

And Iwaizumi will let hell freeze over first before he ruins what they have for some silly, stupid feelings.

 

But… even over the alcohol pulsing through his veins, Iwaizumi had only been aware of Oikawa. Of his mouth, so soft and hot against his. Of how silky his hair felt when Iwaizumi had twined his fingers into the chocolate-brown strands. Of his eyes when they had parted, so wide and surprised and beautiful in his flushed face as he stared at Iwaizumi.

 

He had wanted to kiss him again so, so badly in that moment. And in countless moments after that night.

 

Thank _God_ , Oikawa had been too drunk to remember. The next morning, while nursing a hangover and stabbing his fork anxiously into a stack of pancakes, Iwaizumi had mustered up the courage to casually inquire about the previous night. 

 

And Oikawa had only flashed him that bright smile and told him he didn’t remember much past the first few rounds of shots. That they should do it again. Iwaizumi had ignored the horrible lurch his stomach had done around sugary syrup at _those_ words, unable to keep himself from studying Oikawa’s face for something… _more_ behind them.

 

But there had been nothing. Nothing but Oikawa asking a passing waiter for more coffee.

 

Iwaizumi had also ignored the prickling intuition he always got when Oikawa fed him bullshit. When he gave Iwaizumi that smile that was really nothing more than a mask, a facade.

 

But if he wasn’t going to bring it up, Iwaizumi was more than okay with that.

 

Since then, he’s found his mind wandering back to that drunken night. He tries not to. That’s the line he refuses to cross. 

 

He refuses to admit anything to himself. It’s a dead end, anyway, right?

 

_You’re going to regret not saying anything._ Makki’s sleepy voice is back in his head. _You obviously have feelings for him. Pfft, no surprise there. And I think you’d be wrong to just assume Tooru isn’t into you too. You should tell him. It’s not going to ruin anything even if he doesn’t feel the same way._

 

Iwaizumi snaps back to the present with a deep breath. But what if it did? Ruin everything?

 

He carefully, slowly, opens up his phone. His fingers hover over the keys again, wavering — like the slow flap of bird wings, like there are strings holding them there.

 

He should text back a no. He should be firm and tell Oikawa he really needs sleep. That Oikawa himself needs sleep.

 

Instead, he taps out three letters, not two.

 

Dumbass  
  
Didn’t you like the picture, Iwa-chan?  
  
Go the fuck to bed. What’re you doing?? I need to sleep.  
  
can I come over?  
  
Why?

The response comes almost immediately.

 

Dumbass  
  
Didn’t you like the picture, Iwa-chan?  
  
Go the fuck to bed. What’re you doing?? I need to sleep.  
  
can I come over?  
  
Why?  
  
jeeeeeez, Iwa-chan, I thought you fell asleep on me. and what do you mean why?? i want to see you before you leave.

It’s really kind of pathetic how Iwaizumi’s heart flops in his chest at that.

 

Dumbass  
  
Didn’t you like the picture, Iwa-chan?  
  
Go the fuck to bed. What’re you doing?? I need to sleep.  
  
can I come over?  
  
Why?  
  
jeeeeeez, Iwa-chan, I thought you fell asleep on me. and what do you mean why?? i want to see you before you leave.  
  
you’re coming home next week idiot. you’ll see me then.

 

Dumbass  
  
Didn’t you like the picture, Iwa-chan?  
  
Go the fuck to bed. What’re you doing?? I need to sleep.  
  
can I come over?  
  
Why?  
  
jeeeeeez, Iwa-chan, I thought you fell asleep on me. and what do you mean why?? i want to see you before you leave.  
  
you’re coming home next week idiot. you’ll see me then.  
  
okay… i guess i’ll just lie here and cry then.

Iwaizumi can’t help it. _My God, what a baby_ , he thinks, mouth curving up just a little bit at the edge. The clock on his desk is edging towards 3:00. Outside, it sounds like a light rain has started — a soft hush against his windows.

 

And maybe it’s the sleep deprivation. Maybe it’s because Makki’s annoying, logical voice has been haunting him for three weeks now. Maybe it’s just because Iwaizumi knows he’ll miss Tooru, as sad as that is, for the week before they’re in the same place again.

 

Whatever it is, it has Iwaizumi texting out two words.

 

Dumbass  
  
Didn’t you like the picture, Iwa-chan?  
  
Go the fuck to bed. What’re you doing?? I need to sleep.  
  
can I come over?  
  
Why?  
  
jeeeeeez, Iwa-chan, I thought you fell asleep on me. and what do you mean why?? i want to see you before you leave.  
  
you’re coming home next week idiot. you’ll see me then.  
  
okay… i guess i’ll just lie here and cry then.  
  
Come over.

_——————————————————————-_

When the knock finally comes on Iwaizumi’s door, every nerve in his body is on high alert. He feels like he’s chugged an energy drink and five double-shot espressos all at once. Or touched a live wire.

 

He had offered to come down to get Oikawa in the lobby of the building (since the other lives across campus for his major), but Oikawa had been quick to assure him he could get in by himself. 

 

How, Iwaizumi doesn’t know and he doesn’t necessarily want to ask.

 

What matters is that Iwaizumi’s hands are sweating now. He wipes them quickly on his thin joggers and resists the urge to check his hair in the mirror propped against one wall. It’s just Tooru for God’s sake.

 

_Calm down_ , he tells himself. It doesn’t help.

 

The moment the door swings open though… all of Iwaizumi’s nervousness bleeds from him.

 

Oikawa looks _tired_. There are dark smudges of purple under his eyes and his skin is pale… but he’s wearing that shit-eating grin, like always.

 

How had Iwaizumi not seen it in the selfie? The lighting must’ve been different. That makes sense, now that he thinks back. The room had been shadowy, dark in the picture. Out here, under the hallway fluorescents, every little angle and line of Oikawa’s face is in full view.

 

And it helps him see that it is just Tooru. The same Tooru who’s keeping Iwaizumi awake when he should be sleeping.

 

"Iwa-channn," Oikawa greets cheerily, much too loud for the time it is, and Iwaizumi scowls and grabs his arm, dragging him into the room.

 

"Shut up. Jesus. You’re going to wake everyone else."

 

He drops Oikawa’s arm quickly and then shuts and locks the door, turns back around.

 

Oikawa stands with his back to him for a moment, hands shoved down into his sweatpants (the same dark-gray sweatpants from the selfie, Iwaizumi can’t help but notice) and his black hoodie hanging from his shoulders.

 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to say something, but he closes it again. The silence stretches out and the rain outside grows heavier.

 

Then…

 

"Sleep," Iwaizumi says awkwardly, and Oikawa turns around like he’s been jolted from a dream. Iwaizumi clears his throat and tries really, really hard to fight back the heat in his face. He sounds like an idiot and somehow the nerves are back. 

 

Maybe it’s because Oikawa looks oddly tall in his room tonight, his height over Iwaizumi weirdly accentuated. Or maybe it’s because after his enthusiastic greeting, he’s unnaturally silent. Iwaizumi can’t read his face in the dim glow of his desk lamp and it’s unsettling. 

 

He hates it.

 

"We should, uh, sleep," Iwaizumi finishes lamely. His face flushes hotter. He prays Oikawa can’t tell.

 

"That’s what I came over for, Iwa-chan," Oikawa smirks, turning around fully. Somehow he manages to curl his voice around Iwaizumi’s nickname, giving it an odd, sultry feel that Iwaizumi is 99.9% sure he’s imagining himself.

 

It doesn’t help, though, that that damned selfie keeps popping up into his head at inconvenient moments.

 

_Relax, okay? Just grab the spare futon for Tooru and lay down and sleep. You’ll be home tomorrow and you can figure everything out then, while you’re alone._

 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at Oikawa’s answer and listens to his consciousness, making a move towards the tiny closet across from the beds. The floor is cold against his bare feet. Somewhere, upstairs maybe, he can just hear the thump of a door closing.

 

The noise drifts slowly through the thick silence building up in Iwaizumi’s tiny room.

 

"I’ll grab you the futo-," he begins to say.

 

Oikawa’s hand is suddenly on Iwaizumi’s arm, stopping him so that they’re standing side-by-side, facing different directions. 

 

"Don’t tell me you want to share a bed," Iwaizumi half-laughs, somehow forcing his tone into something lighthearted even though his tongue feels too heavy again. He can feel every inch of Oikawa’s skin against his bare arm, every finger setting his already sensitive nerve-endings to sparks.

 

He turns his head to look at him and Oikawa is already looking his direction and the smile is gone, wiped clear off his face like Iwaizumi’s slapped him. He looks… _vulnerable_. That’s the expression Iwaizumi hadn’t been able to put his finger on earlier.

 

Because Oikawa rarely looks like that.

 

He’s a lot of things — sarcastic, stubborn, arrogant maybe — but vulnerable? Not like this. Not unless something is very, very wrong.

 

_I can’t be imagining this_ , Iwaizumi thinks. And he knows he can’t. There’s some odd, unspeakable tension fluttering around his best friend’s shoulders and Iwaizumi needs to be asking him what’s wrong, not turning into a tongue-tied mess because he’d kissed him once and -

 

"Are you okay?" Iwaizumi turns more towards Oikawa and the other boy’s hand drops from his arm. Cool air rushes in to fill the space, goosebumps rising along Iwaizumi’s skin.

 

Oikawa holds his gaze a moment longer. Then he looks away. A grin twists up the side of his mouth that Iwaizumi can see, the rest of his face edged in shadow.

 

"Why wouldn’t I be, Iwa-chan?" he says nonchalantly, a grin in his voice. "I’m here with you now, aren’t I?"

 

Iwaizumi frowns, shakes his head, frustration digging into him with a slow bite. It’s the sleep-deprivation. It’s that and knowing that Oikawa is hiding something from him.

 

Suddenly the selfie seems so far away. The kiss seems years ago. 

 

All that matters right now is getting to the bottom of why Oikawa had decided to walk all the way across campus this early in the morning. He may have fooled Iwaizumi over text, but he can’t now, not standing right in front of him.

 

He’s come here for a reason, and it isn’t because of the one, measly week that’s going to separate them during break.

 

"Don’t lie to me," Iwaizumi says gruffly. "Is it your knee?"

 

Oikawa walks over to Iwaizumi’s bed and sits down, toeing off his sneakers. They fall to the ground with dull thuds. Only then does he look back up. 

 

"My knee’s fine," he drawls. "But I’m beat. Aren’t you tired? Or is the sight of my beautiful face enough to keep you up at night?"

 

Iwaizumi scowls at that, crossing his arms over his chest, ready to retort that he would’ve been in bed by now if it weren’t for Oikawa’s late-night messages… but he thinks better of bringing those back up. That’s a bad idea.

 

Instead he stares intently at Oikawa’s face. There’s still something there… something else besides vulnerability. 

 

"Wow, no comeback, huh? I must’ve been right," Oikawa continues, leaning back on his elbows. His eyes are dark with the lazy leer on his face but Iwaizumi ignores it. 

 

Oikawa seems… antsy.

 

That’s it. 

 

Like he’s trying to distract Iwaizumi from something, or he’s too wired to stay still. He’s definitely doing that fake smile shit again, that mirage of nonchalance like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

 

And he’s trying too hard. That lazy grin, the slight mocking tone to his voice — like he’s dead-set on getting a rise from Iwaizumi — all of that is what Oikawa does when he feels vulnerable. The sarcasm, the jokes… it’s a shield.

 

Like Iwaizumi had thought before, he sometimes feels like he knows Oikawa better than himself.

 

He abandons the futon. He’s over by the bed in a few steps, Oikawa tilting his head back to look up at him from this angle.

 

"Haji-," Oikawa starts but Iwaizumi is too tired for this shit. He’s too damn tired.

 

In one swift move, he has Oikawa pinned down to the bed with both hands on his shoulders. 

 

_This’s probably not the smartest idea_ , a little voice says in the back of his mind, but there’s no way in hell that Iwaizumi is going to slip back home for an entire week without confronting Oikawa now about what’s wrong. He’ll swallow his uncomfortableness — his fear that Tooru will remember the kiss or realize Iwaizumi’s feelings — to do this.

 

"What is wrong?" Iwaizumi enunciates each word very carefully, keeping Oikawa’s surprised gaze locked with his.

 

There are a few different things Iwaizumi is expecting after the question leaves his lips. He balances there on the bed on his knees, straddling Oikawa and keeping him pushed down, and he waits for his best friend to fess up and tell him he’d practiced too hard on his own and he’s in pain. He waits for him to scowl back maybe, push Iwaizumi off and get irritated, petulant until Iwaizumi pries the information from him, little by little. Sometimes it’s like pulling teeth.

 

What he _isn’t_ expecting, however, is for Oikawa to reach up with one hand, thread his fingers into the hair at the back of Iwaizumi’s head, and pull him down. What he isn’t expecting is to suddenly be overwhelmed by Oikawa’s lips against his.

 

The kiss this time is a lot clearer than the last one. A lot more tangible.

 

Because neither of them are drunk. Iwaizumi is stone-cold sober.

 

And he feels _everything_.

 

Oikawa’s mouth is as soft as he remembers, that hasn’t changed. But it’s also a lot warmer. And _insistent_. Hard and rough and demanding before it gentles out almost instantaneously into something slower.

 

Iwaizumi’s brain stops working. His sense of everything else — the weight of holding his body up on his palms, the softness of his favorite blanket underneath his hands, the unguarded edge in Oikawa’s eyes — disappears.

 

All there is is Tooru beneath him, Tooru’s mouth on his, Tooru’s hand in his hair — his long fingers splayed along the back of Iwaizumi’s head, pinky resting at the nape of Iwaizumi’s neck.

 

Until Iwaizumi jerks back. Oikawa lets go of him immediately and Iwaizumi is up and off of the bed, scrambling backwards, his breath very, very short in his lungs. They feel like they’re shrinking, like the room is shrinking, and he can’t _think_.

 

"What -," he gasps out. "What the _fuck_ , Tooru?" The words come out louder than he intends, echoing off of the eggshell-painted, thin walls.

 

He doesn’t care though. He doesn’t care if the rest of the dorm complex hears him. All he cares about is what just happened. His heart is pounding hard enough he can hear it in his ears. 

 

Oikawa is up now too, standing by the bed. He looks mortified.

 

"Hajime, I’m -," he starts and then stops, mouth opening and closing again. He can’t seem to look directly at Iwaizumi. He’s staring at the space somewhere between Iwaizumi’s right shoulder and ear, his eyes dark and glassy almost.

 

A million questions burn on the tip of Iwaizumi’s tongue but this time he can’t form any coherent sentences. They’re all gone, lost outside in the rain. And he can still feel Oikawa against him, against his lips. They burn. His face burns.

 

All he can do is stare at his best friend and wait for Oikawa to finish.

 

Until a thought clicks into place within his spinning head.

 

"Is this about the night at the bar?" he demands. His voice cracks a little but again, Iwaizumi doesn’t care.

 

Oikawa looks at him then, finally. Something loosens in Iwaizumi’s chest because of it. He can take Oikawa being aloof, being bratty, being pissy, but he can’t take him shutting down.

 

He can’t take not knowing what’s wrong and needless to say, Oikawa is being weird as fuck. Even without the kiss.

 

"God, just tell me, please," Iwaizumi continues. It suddenly feels like a dam has broken inside him and all of it, all of the worries and emotions he’s been feeling recently, are spilling out. "Is it because I kissed you? Is this… what is this? Is something wrong? Because if I freaked you out, I’m sorry, okay? I won’t ever do it again, I swear -"

 

"Hajime," Oikawa says and Iwaizumi stops talking mid-sentence. They stare at each other.

 

Then Oikawa’s shoulders straighten. He looks Iwaizumi dead in the eye.

 

"I didn’t forget," he says, standing like Iwaizumi is going to tackle him or something, oddly defiant. "I didn’t forget about the kiss like I said I did, I just thought -"

 

He takes a deep breath and then hunches a little in on himself. His voice gets softer. "I just thought maybe you made a mistake. That you didn’t mean to and when you asked me the next morning you looked so relieved when I said I couldn’t remember that I was _sure_ it was a mistake."

 

Iwaizumi listens, feeling a little like he’s on a rollercoaster. He feels like he’s inching up higher and higher and the drop is coming, any second now.

 

Oikawa sits back down on the bed, hands shoved back into his pockets. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - I didn’t -" Another deep breath. And then his chin raised, determination written all over him.

 

"I like you."

 

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything. He can’t. Oikawa’s gaze doesn’t waver.

 

"I like you and I liked the kiss and Mattsun told me I should talk to you but then I psyched myself out and I just started doing stupid shit, and I should’ve just told you instead of kissing you, but I -"

 

There it is, the drop. Iwaizumi is back over by Oikawa before he can think about what he’s doing and Oikawa’s voice is slowing, wavering, dropping off as he looks back up again. Déjà vu sweeps over Iwaizumi. His pulse is a roar in his ears.

 

"Stupid shit like that selfie?" Iwaizumi asks, an odd warmth blooming right down in the pit of his stomach.

 

And when Oikawa’s beautiful face crinkles like that — an embarrassed pout to his full lips, chocolate-brown hair falling into his eyes, mouth parting to answer — Iwaizumi can’t resist.

 

He leans down, slowly, until him and Oikawa are inches apart. 

 

Oikawa sucks in an audible breath, face straightening out. His eyes drop down to Iwaizumi’s mouth and it sends a dark thrill right through him.

 

"Hajime." Oikawa’s voice is so soft, a murmur. He smells like rain and some kind of spice… cologne, Iwaizumi thinks. He’s the only thing Iwaizumi can see.

 

"I like you too."

 

Part of Iwaizumi can’t believe he’s said it out loud, after months of denied pining — he can’t believe it’s that easy — but there it is. Out in the open, for Oikawa to do whatever he wants with it.

 

Which turns out to be to cup Iwaizumi’s face in both of his hands and tug him down after the surprise melts from his face, the two of them tumbling back onto Iwaizumi’s bed.

 

Oikawa doesn’t kiss him though.

 

The room tilts, spinning in half a motion, before Iwaizumi gets his breath back and blinks — wide-eyed and surprised again — up at Oikawa hovering over him. 

 

Oikawa is grinning and it’s large and bright and genuine. It’s the smile Iwaizumi loves… right up until it twists into something a little more mischievous. 

 

"So you did like the photo then, huh, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa breathes, and yeah, Iwaizumi is definitely not imagining the way he’s saying his name this time. His voice wraps around it like velvet, a low purr in his throat that sets Iwaizumi’s already hot skin to combusting.

 

It could also be because Oikawa’s body is pressed to every inch of him, pushing him down into the mattress, so close that Iwaizumi can smell spearmint on his breath.

 

"Shut up," Iwaizumi gets out past the knot in his throat… and then they’re kissing.

 

Oikawa’s kisses are… so much better than the overplayed memories in Iwaizumi’s head. He kisses Iwaizumi like they have all the time in the world, slow and languid, and Iwaizumi is floating, lost in it.

 

So lost in the weight of Tooru on top of him and the hot, slow movement of his mouth against his that he nearly forgets to kiss back.

 

That is, until Oikawa decides to bite gently at Iwaizumi’s lower lip, tugging it between his teeth, and Iwaizumi makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a gasp.

 

Oikawa lets go, leaning back to look down at him with eyes that are a million times darker than before, his pupils dilated. 

 

" _Don’t_ say anything." Iwaizumi tries to sound firm. His voice comes out breathy and weak instead but it doesn’t matter because he gets over his embarrassment in favor of yanking Oikawa back down by the front of his hoodie, desperate to feel his mouth on his again.

 

Oikawa seems more than happy to comply, sighing contentedly and folding back down into him, hands somehow suddenly in Iwaizumi’s hair again. Iwaizumi lets his own rest at Oikawa’s hips and then slide up, over his sides, gripping him tighter when the kisses grow deeper. 

 

_God_ , seems to be the only thing he can think. Oikawa smells so good, _feels_ so good, right here. It feels right.

 

And he doesn’t know how long they stay like that, mouths parting and meeting over and over with soft, wet sounds, not taking it any further… until Oikawa slips a tongue into his mouth and moans against him.

 

Iwaizumi can’t help the shock of arousal that runs through him, a low shock through the pit of his stomach that makes him feel uncomfortably hot under his t-shirt.

 

He breaks away to breathe, fingers somehow now _under_ Oikawa’s hoodie and pushed flat to touch bare, hot skin, but Oikawa’s mouth wanders. It makes it even harder to think, to reason with himself that maybe they should slow down, when Oikawa’s kissing down his neck, making little noises and nuzzling into him, _biting_ at a spot Iwaizumi didn’t even know existed, right there below his ear, that makes him flush white-hot.

 

"Tooru," he gasps out, but Oikawa doesn’t hear him — or he pretends not to — and Iwaizumi squirms, bites his lower lip hard, eyes fluttering closed again and desire washing thick and heavy over him. Oikawa seems to be trying to cover every inch of available skin with kisses, tugging down the collar of Iwaizumi’s thin t-shirt.

 

But when he sinks his teeth into the juncture of Iwaizumi’s neck and shoulder, Iwaizumi jerks, finally finding his voice.

 

"Tooru, wait."

 

Oikawa pulls back, looks up at Iwaizumi with a face that should probably be illegal — pupils blown wide, lips kiss-pink, gaze seeming like it’s reserved for Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi only.

 

"Are you okay?" he breathes. He starts to pull back but Iwaizumi stops him with a hand curled in his sweatshirt.

 

"I’m more than okay," he says honestly, even though it makes his ears burn. This, all of this, is still sinking in, but he knows that he loves the feel of Oikawa against him, fitting like a puzzle piece with their legs intertwined. He knows that he loves seeing the wanting in Oikawa’s face and being able to hold him like this.

 

He loves that he already knows Oikawa so well but that all of this feels new.

 

Oikawa smiles at his words and then shifts, inching back up Iwaizumi’s body so they’re face-to-face again.

 

"Good," he says, barely over a murmur. "Because I am too. Way, way more than okay."

 

For a moment, they study each other’s faces and Iwaizumi finds himself smiling back as he searches Oikawa’s eyes.

 

"You’re a dork," Iwaizumi half-whispers, suddenly so happy he feels like his chest might cave in. He rests a finger right under Oikawa’s chin and leans up and kisses him once, twice, three times — slow and gentle and letting Oikawa push back in for more until heat begins to rise thick and overwhelming in the pit of his stomach again.

 

Then he pulls back, lets his head rest on his pillow. "We should sleep," he says, albeit a little breathlessly. And regretfully. He could stay like this, kissing Tooru, for the rest of the night. 

 

But the clock on his desk blinks 3:45 and Oikawa hesitates only for a second longer and then sighs. He flops down fully onto Iwaizumi, knocking the breath out of him.

 

"I guess we should… if you can resist me that is," his muffled voice comes from the front of Iwaizumi’s t-shirt and Iwaizumi shivers and then turns, flipping them sideways. He wants to tell Oikawa all of the ways he’s irresistible — wants to _show_ him — but they’ll have time for that later and he swallows down the urge with some effort.

 

"Dork," he can’t help but murmur once more, but he’s still smiling — a dopey, idiotic smile that he can’t wipe off his face — and he can feel Oikawa’s smile too, pressed to one of his collarbones.

 

Then Iwaizumi reaches behind him, fingers stretching for the lamp, and clicks it off. The room falls into darkness. Rain continues to hush outside. His phone lights up briefly with a text message but Iwaizumi ignores it and turns back into Oikawa’s outstretched arms, pulling his covers up over them.

 

A few moments of silence sink by after they’re comfortable, one of Oikawa’s legs thrown over Iwaizumi’s waist. It feels new, the weight of it. Iwaizumi had never imagined holding Oikawa like this either, one hand lazily carding through his soft hair.

 

He’s lost in his own whirlwind thoughts — about how he’s going to spend a week away _now_ , whether they’re boyfriends or not or if that happens after they actually go out, about where they should go for that first date — so when Oikawa speaks, it startles him.

 

"I have more pictures where that first one came from, Iwa-chan. Since you enjoyed it so much."

 

Iwaizumi doesn’t point out that he hadn’t said anything about liking the first one. He’s too busy grappling with the feeling he gets with Oikawa’s voice this close to his ear in the dark like that, a low murmur, warm breath washing over his skin. Like he’s taken another dip on that rollercoaster ride and his stomach is up in his mouth.

 

He’ll have to get used to that. He doesn’t think he ever will, but that’s okay too.

 

Because now he can shut Oikawa up other ways.

 

So he kisses him and the satisfaction he gets from that perfect, surprised groan against his lips is so much better than sleeping.

 

Besides, he can always sleep on the train.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got around to finishing this ೕ(⁍̴̀◊⁍̴́ฅ)
> 
> Feel free to leave thoughts behind in the comments and thanks for reading!
> 
> And check out my blog @ [oisugasuga](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr ♥


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